I walk through a garden of petroforms, rock formations too ancient for history books to explain. The turtles, snakes, and reptilian forms face skyward. I come across one that must surely be a dinosaur! I feel humbled by the many footsteps that have come before and privileged to share their footfalls. There is a great myriad of spirits in the hot, dry wind. I am not alone.
They came here to commune with each other, and likely they came to speak with their god. It must be so, based on the art’s vantage point. I am here to commune with myself and with my god. I have questions I need answered and I am here to do some navel gazing.
I walk deep into the woods, on endless rock formed by so many ice ages and through trees braided with coloured tribal bands. What will I offer my god, I wonder . . . My stop is sudden. Before me is a small circle, less than a foot across, and within it a small stone rests. And upon the small stone yet a smaller one sits. I know this is the place.
Before my universe I sit with arms unfolded and imagine myself the stone upon the stone, one solitary traveller sitting upon my earth at the center of my universe. And in one word my question comes to me. I am frightened by the word, one riddled with lifelong doubts. Still I accept it. Still, I sit before my circle, silent but for the sound of a forceful, unyielding wind. And I wait . . .
photo: M Hébert